The sea air off Newport always smelled of salt and decaying kelp.

Inside St. Anselm’s Chapel, however, the scent was strictly white roses and expensive French perfume.

I stood in the vestibule, my fingers gripping the edge of a thick, heavy cream envelope.

The gold embossed logo of Birch & Lowe, Forensic Laboratories, caught the dim light of the stained-glass windows.

Behind the heavy oak doors, the organist finished the prelude.

I could hear the rustle of silk and the quiet murmur of two hundred wealthy guests.

“Are you ready, Vivian?”

Grace Monroe stood beside me, her briefcase clasped firmly in her left hand.

Her charcoal suit was sharp, a stark contrast to the pastel linen worn by the wedding guests.

“I’ve been ready for ten months, Grace,” I said.

My voice did not shake.

I thought of Lily, sleeping quietly in the hotel room with the nanny, her tiny fingers curled into fists.

She had her father’s gray eyes, though he had spent the last nine months denying her existence.

The heavy doors creaked open.

The usher, a young man in a morning coat, turned to block us.

“The ceremony is starting, ladies,” he whispered. “The bride is about to enter.”

“We aren’t here for the ceremony,” Grace said, stepping past him.

I followed her into the nave.

The chapel was a cavern of gray stone and polished mahogany.

At the altar stood Adrian Whitmore.

He looked exactly as he had on our wedding day three years ago, immaculate in his black tuxedo, his dark hair brushed back.

Beside him stood Celeste Vale, wearing a custom lace gown that must have cost more than my annual rent.

Adrian saw me first.

His jaw tightened, the color draining from his tanned face.

Celeste noticed his distraction and turned her head.

Her blue eyes narrowed as she saw me walking down the center aisle.

A collective gasp rippled through the pews.

“Vivian?” Adrian’s voice echoed in the high rafters. “What are you doing here?”

I didn’t answer him.

I walked straight toward the front pew, where Margaret Whitmore sat.

The matriarch of the Whitmore family wore a pale gray dress and three strands of South Sea pearls.